


elemental

by santanico



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: “You’re going for a surprise?”Pat nods. “I’m planning something.”“Are you gonna do it…” Brian has to stop. He frowns at Pat. “Pat.”Pat rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna fuck you in the office, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, and Brian buries his face in his hands. “What? You just said ‘no one’s here’,” Pat says, goading.





	elemental

**Author's Note:**

> me: *looks at the brand of hard cider im drinking*  
> me: that's a good title
> 
> as always, notinthisarmy continues to be an amazing cheerleader and keeps me from unraveling with anxiety.  
> if you want to support us, you can do so by throwing us your spare change [here](https://ko-fi.com/O4O09W5I)!

Brian thinks he’s pretty good at reading people. People don’t tend to surprise him - they’re habitual, predictable, especially when they try not to be.

Pat does not fit into any of these categories. He is not easy for Brian to understand. And it isn’t that they don’t talk, or understand each other at all, but rather that Pat keeps things closer. So when Pat, hovering over Brian in bed, says, “I want to try something,” Brian perks and smiles.

“Sure,” he says, “hit me with it.”

And there, Pat sort of grins, dropping his head to the side. He leans down, presses his mouth to Brian’s jaw, tilts Brian’s head back against the pillow. Brian waits, not minding the handling, Pat’s cracked lips brushing against his throat, the touch of teeth, a sharp nip every few seconds. But Pat doesn’t say anything else, and Brian waits and waits, but Pat doesn’t follow-up, just keeps sucking little red bruises into Brian’s skin, reaching between Brian’s legs, jerking Brian’s cock until Brian’s forgotten all about it.

-

“What were you talking about,” Brian says over coffee. “The other night?”

They’re sitting together in the break room on their lunch hour, Pat scrolling through his phone and eating a ham and cheese sandwich on one of the communal plates. Brian wouldn’t admit it, but he’s too anxious to eat. His calendar is overloaded and he can’t remember the last time he was this busy. He can’t complain - more or less, it keeps him from spiraling - but it makes focusing on simple things like lunch a lot harder on some days. The coffee’s too strong, the office gets beans from a roaster near Times Square and Brian’s simple, prefers the stuff he can get at Whole Foods on sale, but Brian sips away anyway, because it keeps him occupied.

“Really?” Pat says after a pause. “On lunch?”

Brian shifts in his seat. “No one else here.”

Pat eyes him for a moment. “Guess not.” Then he bites his lip, hesitates. Brian’s never fucked a coworker. Never wanted to. Never had fuckable coworkers. He sits completely still. “You really want me to ruin the surprise?”

Brian lets himself think about that.

“You’re going for a surprise?”

Pat nods. “I’m planning something.”

“Are you gonna do it…” Brian has to stop. He frowns at Pat. “Pat.”

Pat rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna fuck you in the office, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, and Brian buries his face in his hands. “What? You just said ‘no one’s here’,” Pat says, goading.

Brian looks out at Pat from between his fingers. “Okay. So. Expect the unexpected?”

“Is that okay?” Pat says, more quietly, more gently.

“Uh huh,” Brian says, and he means it.

-

“Hey, BDG,” Pat says, and Brian jumps because he’d been alone all day and Pat’s sudden, loud presence is unexpected. “Scare ya?”

“A little,” Brian says, glances over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“Get me a Coke?”

“Hm?”

“From the vending machine. Downstairs.”

Brian frowns. “You...I mean, I’m kind of - my lunch break isn’t for another hour? Um.”

“Don’t stutter,” Pat says, and his voice is sort of light but there’s an underlying sharpness that Brian recognizes, and despite Pat’s request, Brian entire body stutters. He clicks the wrong thing in Photoshop and swears under his breath.

“Actually, make that a Sprite. The one in the cans? And then some pretzels?”

Brian doesn’t know why but he rummages in his pocket for change.

“I have two dollars,” he says, which will barely cover it.

Pat grips his shoulder, shakes Brian a little bit. “Great. Don’t worry. You can take five minutes.”

Brian isn’t sure where his head is at but he nods, gets up, slides out from behind the desk. Pat is smiling at him, and Brian thinks about the hickeys on his neck, barely hidden by the collar of his shirt, and swallows.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Pat says, and to anyone else it’d just sound like Pat’s giving Brian shit. Brian knows he’s not actually expected to get snacks for anyone in the office, let alone Pat, but he shoves his hands into his pockets anyway and heads down to the lobby.

The three vending machines are all lined up next to the front desk, and Brian inserts the dollar for a can of Sprite and then does the same for a pathetic looking bag of pretzels. He didn’t even know that Pat liked Sprite - he’s never seen Pat drinking it in the office or outside of work, except maybe in a mixer. The same can be said for pretzels, which Brian personally thinks taste like crunchy, salted cardboard, especially the ones in the little foil bags. But whatever, he’s doing Pat a favor, not being tasked with criticizing his snack choice.

Brian comes up behind Pat - who is sitting at Brian’s workspace, dicking around in iMovie for some reason - and sets the can and the bag next to the keyboard.

“Cheers,” he says, and Pat turns a little in his chair, picks up the Sprite, and frowns.

“Thanks,” he says, sounding disappointed. “But I said Coke, didn’t I?”

Brian freezes.

“No, no you….” He trails off. Pat’s gazing at him. Brian’s being tested and he can’t quite figure out how. “Um, you definitely - you said Coke at first but, I thought, uh…” he stops again, because Pat’s raising an eyebrow at him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, looking at Brian like he’s the stupidest kid in the world. “You wanted Sprite.”

“Have you ever seen me drink Sprite in your life, Brian?” Pat says, and there’s a sort of tone in his voice, something Brian can’t quite recognize, and Brian blinks twice, breathes in through his mouth. His bones are rattling, or something - his hands are shaking at his side as all of the blood in his body drains its way into his face. Pat can’t possibly have this much of a hold on him.

“No,” Brian admits, his voice hoarse. Pat smiles a little wider now. “That’s…”

“Or pretzels, for that matter,” Pat says, interrupting Brian’s beginnings of a plea. “Come on, what a waste of time.”

Brian focuses his stare on the pretzels. His mouth is completely dry. He swallows again, turns his tongue around, tries to make something happen in his brain.

“Do you,” he starts, and he’s already kicking himself for this, for wanting to make this stupid, this thing, this _whatever_ is supposed to be happening better, “want me to get something else?”

Pat scoffs. He fucking _scoffs_ and Brian’s breath hitches and all he can think is _Oh, no_ because this is unfair, utterly unacceptable, and Brian wants to crawl into Pat’s lap and beg him to just be nice, just be sweet, but instead he manages to hold onto that final shred of dignity.

“You don’t have any more change, do you?” Pat says, and Brian’s stomach twists, halfway between the way it does when he knows he’s fucked something up at work and has no idea how to fix it and when Pat tugs one of Brian’s nipples between his teeth a little too hard.

“I don’t,” Brian admits. He isn’t sure if the words are coming from his own mouth.

“This is fine, then,” Pat says, and Brian has the foresight to grab the chair next to Pat and sink into it before he crumples entirely.

-

Brian spends the whole day recovering. He’s grateful for Pat, who, after finishing his Sprite (he sips it so slowly, frowns at the can on and off, when Brian can see) and the bag of pretzels, leaves Brian to his own devices. Brian ends up staying a little later than he normally would, having to play catch-up with his projects. When he finally gets up to leave it’s a quarter to six and he sighs, stretches the cricks out of his shoulders and backs, and lets himself check his phone.

Pat’s texted him - _drinks w/simone tonight?_ \- and Simone’s texted him similarly. Pat had followed up, five minutes ago, _didn’t see you leave the office, drop by at the usual location if you’re up for it_ and Brian genuinely wonders if he can handle both of them, even just for a couple of hours, but there’s also a part of him that desperately doesn’t want to miss out on being with Pat that night, and he has a feeling that if he doesn’t show there won’t be any follow up, and there won’t be any seeing each other until next week.

Brian slings his bag over his shoulder and steels himself with a breath. “I can do this,” he says, and heads out the door. 

Pat and Simone are at their usual place at the bar, and as they wave Brian down, he thinks about all the cliches about coworkers and bars and sex in and near bars, and smoking outside of bars, and sharing drinks. 

“You missed happy hour,” Simone says as he slides in next to Pat, “but I’ll only charge you fifty cents for one of the jalapeno poppers.”

“Hey,” Brian says instead of answering. “Sorry I didn’t see your text until...literally twenty minutes ago.” Pat’s watching him, unblinking. “I had some things to catch up on.”

Simone swirls her straw through what looks like a peach sangria. There’s sugar rimming the glass. “You’re not overworked, are you?” she says, and Brian can hear the genuine concern in her mouth, even though she’s just smiling at him, her expression otherwise nonchalant. 

“No, just a lot to finish today. And I…” he stops, wondering if it’s worth saying. “I was a bit distracted before lunch.”

Simone grins. “Yeah?” she says.

It isn’t that they’re keeping this _thing_ on the down-low for any particular reason. It’s just simpler than dealing with questions, teasing - they’d disclosed it to HR and even that had been awkward, Tara’s raised eyebrow, trying to figure out how to mark casual sex on a form for office relationships. Pat had insisted that it would make things less awkward down the road, but Brian still isn’t sure about that.

Still, Brian hesitates to say anything to Simone, who he’s sure would manage to skirt the line of appropriate happiness and pushy interest with just the right amount of finesse.

“Just some heckling from a certain producer,” Pat says as Brian’s still looking for the words. “I gave him some shit to do and apparently I should have taken it elsewhere.”

Brian bites his tongue. “That’s, uh, that’s not fair,” he says, frowning at Pat. He’s only vaguely annoyed - Pat is ridiculously good at this, keeping things smooth, untouchable. Brian can’t argue without explaining Pat’s behavior and it’s another test, goading Brian to admit something in front of Simone.

“Oooh,” Simone coos, resting her elbows on the table. “Maybe next time you should ask Jenna. Maybe she’s more capable.”

Brian shakes his head - too hard, he knows, because his neck sort of cracks in a painful way and he stiffens in his seat - and Pat snickers.

“What?” Simone says, sitting up straighter. “You guys are so weird. You know, I should have texted her. Think she’s home already? Aw, jeez, is that too much pressure? Will she feel weird?”

“No, Simone, go ahead and text her. It’s a Thursday. I’m sure she’d love to come out.”

Simone toys with her phone, scowling at Pat. “She knows she can say no,” Simone says, and Brian smiles, relaxes. Maybe if Jenna shows up it’ll make things a little easier, distract Simone, who seems to squirm a little as she sticks her tongue out at Pat and opens her messages. “I’m texting her. It’ll be more fun with another girl here.”

Pat hums and Brian holds his tongue from what feels like an obvious sex tape joke.

“Oh, oh! Okay, she’s gonna show, she was just at the library. That’s so cute. She goes to the library after work? I love that. I haven’t been to a real library in a while. What libraries do you guys go to? Any in the city? Or do you get a little - you know, a little further out?”

Simone keeps chirping about libraries and Pat helps the conversation along while Brian half-listens. Simone’s talking about research and missing writing papers for college but preferring working with video games even if she doesn’t get to write as much for her career. Brian appreciates Simone, her ability to fill what would be otherwise awkward silences, how she makes Pat chuckle and soften. Brian doesn’t realize how close he is to Pat until Pat turns his head and almost bumps into Brian’s head. Brian sits back and Pat’s so obviously about to say something but Jenna’s scooting into the booth across from them, getting in close to Simone, who cheers and wraps an arm around Jenna’s shoulders.

“The gang’s all here,” she says, and Jenna grins at Brian, who’s leaned back against the fake leather of the booth seat. “You wanna drink? Want me to buy you a drink?”

Jenna considers and then she says, “Come to the bar with me,” and Simone follows Jenna and motions to Pat and Brian, says, “Be right back,” as if they had reason to doubt it.

“You alright?” Pat says.

Brian shrugs. He hates not knowing what to say to Pat but right now he feels utterly stuck.

“Hey,” Pat says, rubs his palm up Brian’s thigh, heat of his hand sinking into Brian’s slacks, electricity through his skin. “You good?”

Brian shifts a little closer to the table, and in doing so, Pat’s hand slides up to his hip.

“Yes,” Brian says. He takes a deep breath through his nose. His heart is pounding. 

“Can I keep doing this?” Pat says, his fingers slipping under the hem of Brian’s button-down. His fingertips are so hot compared to Brian’s cold stomach. Pat scratches the nail of his index finger against Brian’s waist.

“Yes,” Brian says after a pause. “I’ll stop you, if…” He tries to think of an ‘if,’ but gives up almost immediately. Out of the corner of his eye, Pat smiles again.

“Okay,” Pat says. Brian struggles to stay still as Pat’s hand travels to his crotch. It’s subtle enough, there’s no aggression in the touch, but Brian still has to lean forward, crouching over the table as his dick twitches in his pants. He spreads his legs, just a little, just enough to relieve the pressure, and he hears Pat snort gently and tries to ignore the warmth flushing into his cock and face simultaneously.

“Sit up,” Pat says, sharp in Brian’s ear, and he lifts his head and straightens as Pat squeezes the line of his dick.

Jenna trots back. “You want something, Brian? Simone’s treat. She’s in a good mood.”

Brian wants to die - he can’t think of a single drink, wants to just say _beer_ but he’s so afraid of the follow-up question that he instead stares wide-eyed at Jenna. He knows his mouth is hanging open, and Pat must too, because his palm spreads over Brian’s dick, dragging a finger down the line of his zipper.

Jenna tilts her head. Every second that Brian hesitates is a second too long, and Pat isn’t giving him any relief, moving his hand in slow, pressurized circles.

“Hmmm,” Brian hums, just a hair too long, “beer?”

Jenna squints at him. “There are tons of beers,” she says, her voice dry, not quite annoyed, but getting there. She glances back over at Simone, who’s watching them over her shoulder, neck strained to see what’s taking so long. “At least give me some direction or we’re gonna just pick the shittiest, cheapest thing they have.”

Brian wants to scramble, say yes, yes, that’s all he wants, just _leave_ but Pat’s got him in a chokehold, and his pants are too tight, and his throat is closing up.

He swallows and tries to nod and besides him, Pat laughs. “You should try the IPA they have on draft,” he says. If he’s trying to be nice, trying to save Brian, it’s a dickish way to go about it.

Jenna folds her arms, waiting for confirmation.

“That sounds good,” Brian says, surprised at how steady his voice sounds. He knows he must be pink and blotchy but maybe the lighting’s bad enough that it’s not too noticeable. Jenna doesn’t seem to be thrown off at all, she just nods and gives them a thumbs-up and heads back to Simone.

“Think she suspects anything?” Pat says, too nonchalant. Brian drags his nails over the polished wood of the table, letting out a low breath. “Probably not,” he says, as if answering his own question. Pat’s hand moves a bit again, rests on the button of Brian’s slacks. “Brian?”

Brian wonders, vaguely, what he’s expected to say. As if there’s somehow a right answer.

“I don’t think she noticed,” Brian says after a second of collecting his thoughts. “Thank you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Pat says. He’s smiling again. “For what?”

Brian glances sharply at him and Pat undoes the button, slides the zipper down and palms Brian’s dick through his underwear. Brian chokes a bit, shuts his eyes.

“What are you thanking me for?” Pat says, his voice several octaves lower now.

“For helping me pick a drink,” Brian says through gritted teeth, and he manages to sit up a little straighter as Jenna and Simone return. Jenna hands Brian the beer and he takes the tall glass in his hand and leans over to sip from the top. He doesn’t feel strongly about beer, and this is no exception. If he’d had his choice, he’d probably have picked a bellini, or a margarita, or something. Something strong but sweet, something that would actually be a distraction. He wonders if Pat planned this at all. If Pat thought that Brian would show, did he know he’d push them like this?

Brian decides it’s not worth thinking about any harder. He stares at the beer, thinks about Pat’s hand. He doesn’t know what he’s expected to do, if anything. He knows Pat isn’t gonna jerk him off in the booth, neither of them is quite that level of brave, and maybe this has something to do with earlier but Brian’s too fucking dumb to connect the dots, so he decides to just stay still, wait, watch as Simone chatters on about work and being ready for the weekend and their plans for tomorrow.

Jenna groans, “No more work talk,” and Simone laughs, nods and leans in towards Pat.

“Pat,” she says. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Ah,” Pat says, and he actually seems caught off guard. “Uh, I didn’t actually have any specific plans?” He touches his chin with his spare hand, somehow still moving his palm in rhythmic circles, keeping Brian hard enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough that he isn’t paying attention. “I was probably gonna stay in, if I’m honest.”

“Mm, boring, next,” Simone says, turning on Brian. “Gilbert?”

“Um,” Brian says, and Pat gives him a hard squeeze. Brian’s body jerks but Simone just blinks at him, doesn’t seem to notice that anything’s really amiss. Brian licks his lips, trying to draw moisture back into his mouth. “Actually gonna visit my sister,” he says, and it’s mostly a lie - they kept saying they were going to get coffee and catch up but they hadn’t made specific plans. Pat’s watching Brian now, trying to read his expressions, maybe. “Catch up on some cleaning,” he says, and that’s probably more realistic. “I feel like I’ve barely been in my apartment.”

“Uh huh,” Simone says, “I can relate.”

“Your commute’s kinda bullshit, isn’t it?” Jenna says.

Simone nods. “Yeah, but it’s worth it, I like having the time on the subway with no service,” she says, pulling out her phone as if on instinct. She glances at the screen and then sets it back down, face-up. “Gives me time to catch up on reading, stuff like that.”

“Mhm,” Jenna agrees. “What’ve you been reading?”

Simone looks a little sheepish. “Um, not anything...I mean, nothing interesting.” Jenna quips about Hemingway and Simone huffs in feigned disdain. “I read things,” she says, and Brian has a moment where he thinks about how cute Simone is, how much he genuinely likes her presence. “I mean, non-fiction, I’m like, sixty percent through _The Argonauts_?” She frowns, pauses. “It’s like a memoir...queer...diary...thing? I think you’d like it,” she says, directing the last bit at Jenna. “The writing’s really powerful.”

Jenna seems interested, and Brian is too, but he’s already forgotten the title of the book, can only think _astronauts_ and he knows that isn’t accurate.

“You? Jenna?” Simone says.

“Ah,” Jenna says, and she looks embarrassed too. “I feel like I haven’t had a lot of time...to read.” She’s blushing, but Brian wouldn’t notice if she wasn’t already a little pink in the cheeks. “I’m always looking for new horror stuff so I’ve been kind of focused on online publications, but I’ve been rereading some of Shirley Jackson’s short stories...Nothing to really write home about it.”

“Oh, I love Shirley Jackson,” Pat says, his voice sudden and louder than Brian expect. Brian jerks a bit and looks at Pat, who’s hand relaxes for a second. “Predictably, my favorite was _We Have Always Lived in the Castle_. But I haven’t read much of her short fiction.”

“You should,” Jenna chirps, looking pleased to have something else in common with Pat. “ _Hangsaman_ sticks with me, most of all.”

“Haven’t picked that one up,” Pat says, his fingers groping the line of Brian’s cock more certainly again. Brian shudders. “What about you, BDG?”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian says, laughs short and hard. “Yeah, I read. Love books. Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of ‘em.”

“It’s okay if you’re not at literar...literarally - gifted - as the rest of us,” Simone says, tripping over her new word. It makes Jenna laugh, and Simone seems pleased with that. “Seriously? Nothing?”

Brian racks his brain. Does he read? Has he ever sat down, a book in hand, in his life? He can’t recall a single moment where he has. “I read some Batwoman comics last month.”

Both of Simone’s eyebrows raise dramatically. “Interesting,” she says, and Brian nods, trying to keep his expression solemn.

“What about an actual book?” Pat says. “No disrespect to graphic novels.”

“They are called novels,” Brian says through gritted teeth.

“That’s respectable, and Kate Kane is a lesbian, so you get a free pass,” Simone says, seemingly pleased with his answer. Brian lets out a breath. Maybe he’s gotten out of this.

“No, no, but really,” Pat says, pushing Brian’s limits. “Any biography? Fiction? Memoirs? C’mon, anything floating around in that head of yours?”

Brian clears his throat. His thighs are shaking, and he tries to relax, let his muscles go, but it’s hard with the warmth of Pat’s body pressed so close to his, Pat’s thin, firm fingers still relentless on his cock. He’s never been this hard for this long without touching himself or being touched, but Pat seems to have no problem with them just sitting here, bullshitting about literature.

“Well, I’ve been trying to read _Moby Dick_ for about three years,” Brian says.

Pat’s the one to nearly choke this time, dropping his head and laughing. His hand squeezes Brian’s thigh and Brian shifts, brings his legs a little closer together.

“You never read _Moby Dick_?” Simone says. “Hm. I guess I haven’t since I took a classic American lit course in college.”

“Did you like it?” Jenna says. “It’s too intimidating, I’ve only ever read the wikipedia synopsis because someone told me about whale sperm.”

“I like it,” Simone says, “I liked it a lot, I mean, it’s homoerotic, so yeah, I liked it. I think I wrote like, three separate papers about it.” She leans back, frowning, arms folded over her chest. “God, I miss writing lit essays.”

“Can’t relate,” Pat says, still snickering. “ _Moby Dick_ , huh?” Pat says, looking at Brian and leaning his head on his hand. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

“It’s the truth,” Brian says. “And yeah, it’s pretty homoerotic.”

“You’re liking it, then?” Jenna says, to Brian this time.

“Mostly. It’s exhausting, but it’s good. It keeps you...Like a boat. It kind of goes back and forth. You’re on the edge for a few pages, then it slows down, then it picks back up again. It’s tiring but it keeps you wanting to know what it’s gonna do next.” Brian surprises himself with his ability to string together so many coherent sentences at once.

“I might try and reread that one when I get the chance,” Simone says. She doesn’t ask Brian any more questions, and neither does Pat - Brian’s grateful for that, even though he knows he shouldn’t be - and they sink into easier conversation for a bit, mostly Jenna and Simone trading stories about high school and college, Pat chiming in when appropriate.

Jenna ends up being the first one to call it a night after two drinks, bidding them farewell with slightly awkward waves and a half-hug for Simone, who’s predictably on her fourth drink and more bubbly and oblivious as ever. Brian gives Jenna a weak goodnight and she doesn’t question it, just waves at him and Pat and pays her bill before leaving.

“You should probably head home soon too,” Pat says to Simone. “Want us to walk with you to the subway?”

Simone scoffs and sticks her tongue out at him again, sighing heavily. “You’re right, this wasn’t much of a venture, but it’s nice to hang out with you guys.” She tips her head to the side, sheet of hair crossing her face. She tucks it behind her ear and it falls loose almost immediately. Brian lets himself stare at her, picks up his beer.

“Thanks for the beer,” he says, and she laughs at that.

“You’ve barely drank half of it. What’s on your mind, hm?”

Brian stammers but Pat interrupts them. “So you wanna take us up on our offer?” he says, and Brian wonders what that means, _us_ , because sure, he’d walk Simone home if he thought that’s what she wanted, but he’d never offered or agreed, and Pat’s steering like he knows the exact route they’re taking, no maps required.

“Sure,” Simone says. “We have to take a larger group next time. I haven’t gotten wasted with Jeff in weeks. He can be so boring.” She stands, slips out of the booth, turns around to pull her coat on. Pat’s hand moves off of Brian’s dick and Brian tries not to think about problems with visibility, just zips his fly and buttons it while Pat scoots out of the booth from the other side.

Simone takes her time buttoning up her coat, and Brian, still numb, slowly pulls on his jacket. He tugs it down, tries to straighten himself out. He’s grateful his pants are dark, that it’s dark in the bar, that it’s dark outside. Simone’s got an arm wrapped around Pat’s, and he’s grinning at something she’s saying about dogs - Brian only catches a bit of it - and Brian hovers beside them, considers where to stand.. He ends up on Simone’s left, hands shoved in his pockets, and as they head out the door he’s thankful for the cold air brisk on his cheeks.

Simone’s still chattering, but she falls quiet after a couple of minutes walking, and they head down to the subway and she says, “Thanks, guys,” and hugs them each in turn. They wait as she heads through the gate and then Pat turns to look at Brian.

“You good?”

Brian wonders how many times Pat’s gonna ask him that.

He wonders how long he’ll be in this job, in this city.

He presses his lips together and nods. Pat continues to stare at him, and Brian smiles. “Yeah,” he says, his voice hoarse, “I’m good.”

“You going home?”

Brian bites his lip, hesitating.

“Not that I…” Pat trails off, manages to look a little sheepish as he drags his fingers through his hair. “No, forget it. You should come home with me.”

Brian closes his eyes. “I...agree,” he says, and smiles as Pat laughs.

-

It’s late enough that they have space on the subway to sit next to each other, and Pat keeps his arm around Brian’s shoulder, dragging his fingers up and down his sleeve. It’s a soothing gesture, and it’s working, more or less. Brian isn’t hard anymore, or anything close to it - he’s just tired, exhausted from being pushed, but he’s admiring his own composure at the moment, leaned into Pat’s side, relaxed for the moment, listening to the rhythmic vibrations of the train as it speeds along to the next stop.

“Our stop,,” Pat says, and Brian follows Pat off the train, back out into the city, down several blocks. They keep a couple inches distance, not enough to be awkward but not close enough to feel forced. Brian’s looking forward to sleeping in a real bed.

Pat’s apartment is respectably small, and Charlie comes crying, his meow almost a yowl, and Pat scratches behind the cat’s ears and says, “Gimme five.” Brian wanders into the tiny living room and sits himself on the loveseat, taking one of the pillows and hugging it to his chest as he kicks off his sneakers. Pat pours Charlie food and then there’s the tell-tale shake of a plastic bag and a cat-litter shovel. Brian fishes his phone out of his pocket and texts his roommate to check Zuko’s food bowl. She texts him back three minutes later with a smiley face and a thumbs-up emoji, and he pockets his phone and settles back down.

“Hey,” Pat says from the kitchen. “You want something to eat? Something to drink?”

In reality it’s not that late - maybe quarter after nine, no later. They hadn’t spent too much time at the bar and the commute wasn’t long either, but the thought of another drink or anything to eat seems impossible.

“Water?” Brian says.

“Sure thing,” Pat says, and there’s Pat’s shuffling footsteps, the fridge door opening, a glass resting on a counter, the sink running. Pat hands Brian the glass and snaps open a bottle of beer. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Brian says, and he drinks deeply, finishing the glass in several seconds. Pat settles in the chair a few feet away.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“Thanks for letting me…” Pat stops, like he’s almost regretting what he’s saying. Brian waits, though he’s tempted to get up and refill his glass of water. “Thanks for being cooperative.”

It’s Brian’s turn to snicker, and he does, wholeheartedly. “Cooperation,” he says. “Like we’re working on a complicated project in the office.”

“Look,” Pat says, and now he’s letting himself smile, beer bottle held close to his lips, “I was trying to be polite.”

Brian hums and kicks back onto the sofa again, resting against the arm. “Don’t waste your time,” he says with a yawn. “And you’re welcome.”

“You gonna crash on my couch?”

Brian considers thoughtfully. “It’s one of the options I’m considering. Couch, floor, bed….They’re all good.”

“Well, I have a spare toothbrush, if you wanna bother that. And sweats, if you don’t wanna sleep in your clothes.”

Brian peeks over at Pat again. He nods.

Pat stands up then, trails out of the living room, maybe back into the kitchen, maybe down the hallway. A minute later a door opens, shuts. A toilet flushes, the sink runs. Brian gets up and gets another glass of water, drinks it down and leans on one of the kitchen counters and watches Charlie eat.

Doors open and close again and Brian finally steels himself, makes his way towards the bedroom. He ducks into the bathroom first, taking his glasses off, leaving them on the counter as he washes his face. The spare toothbrush is sitting on the counter space besides the sink, and he takes a little bit of Pat’s toothpaste to the brush and watches himself in the mirror as he brushes. He pisses, washes his hands, looks at his face again.

When Brian finally convinces himself it’s time to go into Pat’s bedroom, he can’t help but feel almost underwhelmed by it.

Pat’s in bed, glasses still on, reading on his phone. His bedroom is small but not modest overall, a nice dresser, two bedside tables, a lamp on one and a light on the ceiling as well. Brian hesitates in the doorway and Pat glances up at him, takes off his glasses and sets his phone down like Brian’s in some ridiculous movie.

“Tired?” Pat says.

“Guess so,” Brian says. He peers around the room.

“Sweats are in the second drawer from the top. Take your pick.”

“You have so many to choose from?”

Pat sort of half-shrugs. “Whatever,” he says, and Brian lets himself laugh. There’s only three pairs of sweatpants, in the end, and two of them are clearly ratty and old. Brian picks the dark green ones and wonders, distantly, if Pat is wearing a pair or not.

It shouldn’t be awkward - they’ve had sex in this bed, in the shower, been naked in bright lights and in the utter dark together - but Brian still has to face away as he shucks his pants and underwear off. He half-folds them and tosses them on the floor at the end of the bed, does the same with his shirt and socks. He pulls the sweatpants on and they’re just a little too big, they hang sort of low on his hips. He’s conscious of himself now more than almost ever, and he turns around to crawl onto the bed and Pat’s staring at him. He isn’t trying to hide it at all, either.

“Hey,” Brian says, knee-walking across the sheets to the head of the bed. “Thanks for letting me sleep over,” he teases, and Pat’s hand is on his neck, gripping his jaw, and they’re kissing again.

Brian thought he was tired, and he is, mostly, but this is enough to reawaken his stirrings, and he shifts, sighs as Pat’s other hand draws down his chest, thumb grazing over his nipple.

“Anytime,” Pat says. Pat’s hand is gentle at first, neither push or pull, and Brian, in his tiredness, sinks back against the pillows. Pat’s got plenty of them - two firm, two soft - and Brian forgot how much he appreciated something like this, a warm body on top of him, a firm bed beneath him.

Pat curls his tongue against Brian’s lips and Brian opens his mouth, sighs and twitches as Pat’s tongue presses further inside. Pat licks and then draws back, in a slow, torturous way, and Brian clings to the sleeves of the long-sleeved t-shirt Pat’s wearing. The fabric is thick and soft under his fingers.

“You’re so lazy,” Pat hums, and Brian smiles and nods, shutting his eyes. “Is this what you want?”

Brian isn’t sure what the question means exactly, but Pat’s on top of him now, propped up on his elbows, one knee between Brian’s legs. Brian shifts to get a little more comfortable and at that same moment, Pat leans down further, his thigh pressing against Brian’s crotch. It’s just the right amount of pressure and firmness, enough to remind Brian why he’s here but not enough to relieve any tension.

“Yes,” Brian says, going with his gut instinct and relying on Pat to know what to do. It’s risky, but Brian’s skin is tingling, his muscles are so light, and he wants to sink into oblivion with Pat on top of him.

Brian waits, but nothing happens. Pat barely moves and even as Brian grips his arms and tugs a little, there’s only the slight shift of Pat’s thigh, the barest touch between Brian’s legs.

“Hey,” Brian says, and it comes out hoarse, like a whisper.

“Hm?” Pat says. He touches his nose to Brian’s and then readjusts, holding himself up further on the pillow.

“You gonna…” And Brian stops, embarrassed, heat sinking into his face as he sinks further into the pillows. “Touch me?”

“Touch you,” Pat repeats, his voice ringing. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Maybe,” Brian says, “I mean…” He hesitates. “You’ve been really mean, all day.”

Pat emphasizes Brian’s point, nipping his earlobe. “Tell me about that,” Pat says, the most nonchalant tone in his voice. He sits up, straddling Brian’s leg.

“What?”

“Remind me how mean I am. I don’t believe you.”

Brian’s eyes flutter shut and he squirms. “You made me...feel...stupid.” And he sounds it too, just saying that out loud. “Running errands for you.”

Pat snorts. “Errands? Be more specific.”

Brian hates how his body and brain react to the way Pat talks - he wants to say whatever Pat wants to hear, but everything’s so jumbled, he can barely focus. “You made me get you Sprite. You _said_ Sprite. Then you lied to me.” He lets out a low breath.

“Oh,” Pat says, like he’s somehow forgotten. “That? Is that all?”

“No,” Brian whispers. “You...touched me. At the bar.” Brian groans as he remembers, embarrassment and arousal turning a weird knot in his stomach. “While Jenna and Simone were there.”

“Yeah,” Pat says. “I did.” He runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times, though it keeps falling back in front of his face each time. He takes off his glasses and reaches over to the bedside table to set them down. “Was that too much?”

Brian stares at Pat - stares at the white patch on his jaw, the uneven texture of the scars on his skin, the thin line of his mouth. “No,” he says, deciding on simple and honest as his policy. “No, it was good.”

“Is it hard?” Pat pauses. “Admitting that?”

Brian grinds his hips against Pat’s firm thigh.

“Yeah,” he says.

“It shouldn’t be. If it’s just the truth.”

Brian says, “What do you want me to do?”

Pat shakes his head. He shuffles forward again, then flattens himself against Brian, propped on his elbows and forearms. “I want to watch you get yourself off,” Pat says, his voice again low and flat.

Brian blinks several times to try to straighten his vision. “Pat,” he says.

“Grind on my leg.”

“Jesus Christ,” Brian grits through his teeth. He rolls his hips. It’s almost painfully unsatisfying, but it’s something. “Pat, c’mon.”

Pat shrugs. “You’ve been asking a lot of me,” he says, and Brian knows the noise he makes, the sort of strangled sound between a yelp and a gulp, is sharply embarrassing. But he can’t help it, something about Pat’s voice, the lulling boredness of it, makes him want to whine. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yes,” Brian says, unaware what he’s supposed to be paying attention to.

“Did you think I was just gonna jack you off? Blow you? Tease you all day just for you to come in my mouth after thirty seconds of thrusting? I don’t think so.”

Brian gulps hard, shudders as he tries to twist his hips, but he’s just grinding up into air, into the fabric of Pat’s sweats - and that’s another reminder, they’re not his pants, and the fabric is just rough enough that it’s uncomfortable but it’s something, and knowing they belong to Pat, is something else. 

“Pat,” Brian whispers. “I can’t, I can’t - do this.”

Pat hums, a disinterested, quiet sound. “Can’t do what?”

Brian’s brain is so close to shutting down. He squirms again, gasps in a breath. “I can’t get off like this,” he whispers, trying to press his groin into Pat’s thigh. Pat sort of meets him there, and the pressure is enough to still Brian for a moment.

“This is boring,” Pat says after a short pause, and Brian gasps again as Pat pulls back, roll off of Brian. Brian’s existence crashes for a split second until Pat grabs him by the hip and rolls Brian onto his stomach, pressing a hand into the small of his back to keep him still. Brian turns his neck, straining to try to get a good look at Pat, but Pat’s on top of him again too soon, pressing Brian’s hips into the mattress. “You better not come on my good sheets.”

“What?” Brian says, because all he can feel is the tight touch of Pat’s thighs squeezing his hips, and nothing else seems real.

Pat’s stronger than he looks, yanks Brian onto his arms and knees. Brian’s shaking a little, has to steady himself on his elbows, his forehead hovering near the pillow, not quite touching. He’s still processing the movement, the hardness of Pat’s hands, when Pat shoves his hand into Brian’s pants and wraps his fingers around Brian’s cock.

Brian sighs and drops his head, would drop his entire body if he thought he wouldn’t just collapse into nothingness. Pat’s hand is firm, almost rough, but it’s a touch that Brian had been missing, had been thinking about all day, and his head spins.

Pat’s not being careful at all, just fast, rough twists of his wrist. Brian’s cock is twitching in his palm and Pat’s breath is hot against his ear. The sensations are limitless, Brian’s overwhelmed and overworked, and he chokes on his own groan, clenching his fingers in the pillowcase.

“Pat,” Brian says, and he’s thinking about what Pat said, about not coming on the sheets, and he’s dizzy and almost panicked, so he says Pat’s name louder, and Pat squeezes but slows down gradually, until he’s barely touching Brian. It’s worse but it gives Brian a moment to recollect, his head spinning at the supercharged vibrations.

“What’s wrong?” Pat says, and there’s a genuine concern in the low thrum of his voice, and everything’s warm, and Brian is so tired, he’s so close to being exhausted beyond his threshold. Pat’s hoisting him up, and Brian settles back against Pat’s chest. “Brian.”

“I’m okay,” Brian says. “Just...tired.”

Pat half-laughs, cards his fingers through Brian’s hair. “Alright, alright,” Pat says. “Want me to play nice?”

Brian hums and nods, shutting his eyes. He’s comfortable here, settled against Pat’s shoulder. Pat is touching him again, gentler this time, slow, and Brian reignites with every stroke, sighs and moans at the right moments, releases sharp breaths through his teeth, hisses when Pat’s fingers glides along his cock. Pat’s doing overtime, keeping Brian steady while jerking him off, and Brian’s aware of his own gratitude, stretches his back and pushes his hips into Pat’s fist. It still doesn’t take long at all for Brian to come, but it feels like something entirely new, a shattering of the stillness of their bodies. Brian’s body clenches and he says Pat’s name, his attempt at a warning, and comes into Pat’s palm and across his stomach.

Brian’s lying down when he opens his eyes, his head nearer the foot of the bed and his feet propped on pillows. Pat is taking a handful of tissues over his fingers, standing next to the bed, and he turns and looks at Brian and gives Brian this look, an in between of a smile and a smirk, and Brian throws an arm over his face and groans.

“You still doing alright?” Pat says, throwing the wad of tissues into the tiny little wastebasket he keeps in the corner of the room.

Brian grunts and Pat snickers and climbs back on the bed.

“You wanna,” Brian says, and he tries to connect the dots with his words but they don’t really make sense so instead he whines and rolls onto his side. “Did I do okay?”

Pat’s horizontal next to him, feet at the front of the bed and head nearer the foot, and Brian thinks that’s sweet, somehow. “Did you...do okay?” Pat repeats, frowning.

“Uh huh,” Brian says. He doesn’t know how to make himself clearer. His entire body is twitching.

“Oh,” Pat says after another pause. “Oh, God, you mean - Brian.” Pat’s voice gets softer, and Pat scoots closer, and Pat kisses Brian and Brian opens his mouth but otherwise he can’t really do anything so he lets Pat kiss him and kiss him until Pat pulls back. “You did great.”

“I didn’t come on your sheets, did I?”

Pat laughs again. “You didn’t,” Pat says, and Brian frowns to himself, because it’s so hard to make Pat laugh when he’s trying to, but when he’s serious, suddenly Pat’s all smiles.

He tries to say as much, and Pat laughs again.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Pat says, and strokes his fingers through Brian’s hair again. It’s familiar, comforting, and Brian is fading. “You wanna get a pillow under that head of yours?”

Brian mumbles something, he tries to say yes, and he has to assume that Pat understands because Pat puts a pillow under Brian’s head and says good-night and turns the lights out.

Brian wakes up at one in the morning and situates himself again, moves carefully as to not wake up Pat. He gets up, gets another glass of water and drinks it down in front of the sink, fills it a second time to take to bed. Pat’s perfectly still on his back, breathing quietly and steadily in the dark as Brian shucks back the covers and crawls into bed properly. He’s about to shut his eyes when Pat’s hand fumbles for his cheek, and Pat says, “Hey,” and they manage to meet each other in the middle, mostly mouths touching mouths.

“Good-night,” Brian says, and he lets a second pass before he says, “Thank you.”

“Mm,” Pat says, and he’s asleep before Brian can think to elaborate.


End file.
